Ritual and Honor
by The Ferryman
Summary: In which Jaime doesn't break every oath he's ever sworn, Eddard has a cupful of wildfire, and Lion and Wolves contemplate the uses of Stag.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Not sure where this idea crawled out of. I do, however, feel I need to make clear that I own neither the characters or settings thus depicted.

* * *

The Brotherhood was big on Ritual.

Standing watch outside the King's Chamber was a Ritual of pretending Rhaella wasn't screaming.

Standing watch before the Throne was a Ritual of pretending the cooks were over-searing a boar.

Sleeping was Ritual. Dressing was Ritual. Practice—

The twist of the sword-hilt to break to grip of flesh on steel as it was withdrawn was Ritual.

Wiping the blade clean before sheathing it so the blood didn't rust the metal or bind it in the scabbard was Ritual.

Recovery. Back to Watching-Guard.

Ritual complete Jaime blinked at the corpses on the floor.

It hadn't been long. It wouldn't be long. Not long before the Stark was walking into the hall. Already his father's men were moving through the Red Keep…

_Promise me, Jaime. Keep my family safe._

The Red Keep.

Jaime blinked. Swore. Ran.

Out of the Throne Room. Across the courtyard. The bridge of Maegor's Holdfast was already down and Jaime was at full-tilt as he went. Up the stairs. Up the stairs. Up the _stairs!_

"I'm going to do her next," a voice like a rutting boar grunted over a high, keening wail.

Then a hideous sound. Like a melon dropping off a farmer's cart and smashing on cobblestones, but one with a rind made of pottery, perhaps.

Jaime came through the door and froze. Watching as Gregor Clegane finished, his hands squelching a mess of splashed red, shattered yellow bone, pulped grey-white brains oozed from between gripping ham-like fingers, and Elia's raven hair.

His sword leapt free in a reverse grip. Down. And Clegane's corpse was pinned to Elia's, both twitching in parody.

"Jaime—"

Amory Lorch was always slow, Jaime thought pedantically. His dagger was already drawn as he threw himself across the nursery. Lorch tried to defend himself, but he'd been holding Rhaenys as he used a knife on her.

The knife would have been good for skinning an elk, not so much fighting an armored man and Jaime arched his body to keep from crushing the princess as he rode the other knight to the floor.

He stood, and the fog that had gripped him vanished.

The Princess was dead. And Aegon. There was a smear of blood and brains on the wall, and the body itself was pinned under Elia's breast. Rhaenys had been sliced a half-dozen times by Lorch, but the cuts looked clean and shallow enough not to be immediately life-threatening.

He scooped the toddler up and, in the next room, quickly bound her wounds with strips of cloth from the kit each of the Kingsguard wore against such need. "Come, Princess," he said, unlatching his cloak and bundling it around her. "You're safe. As long as I draw breath, you are safe." Because maybe, just _maybe_, not all of his Oaths had been broken yet.

And so Jaime Lannister sits on the Iron Throne. In his lap, swathed in a white cloak and protected from the Throne itself by Jaime's armor, was Princess Rhaenys. And cooling on the floor were the bodies of Rossart and King Aerys.

* * *

They are still there, though Rhaenys sleeps fitfully, when Eddard Stark rolls in like a Northern thunder-blizzard.

"Lord Stark," Jaime said.

Eddard looks pointedly at Aerys, then back up at Jaime. "Kingslayer."

Jaime stood and was instantly and acutely aware of the child in his arms and lack of sword at his belt. He bit back a cutting remark that would have led to shouts and waking Rhaenys. "Come with me," he said instead. He turned and left the throne room. In a way it didn't matter if Stark followed or not.

Even the Kingsguard didn't know all of the secret passages of the Red Keep. Many of them, yes. Discovered over the years and passed on from guards by word or action, but never written down. But not all.

Deep under the cellars, under even the Black Cells, Jaime pushed a door open to reveal rank upon rank of casks. He recalled one being tapped by Rossart and takes a moment to find it. Offering Stark a cup and, very carefully took a step back (since it was wildfire), but not too carefully or too far (since it was, after all, wildfire).

Stark stared at him, then moved the cup under the tap and turned it until a dribble of glowing green came out. Stark turned the tap so hard he nearly broke off the handle. "What is this?" He demanded.

"Wildfire," Jaime said.

Stark's eyes darted at the cup, then at the casks. "Why is it here?" he asked suspiciously.

"What oaths do the Kingsguard swear, Lord Stark?" Jaime asked.

"To defend the King from harm," Stark said, voice dripping with contempt and irony.

Jaime waited.

"To obey the King's commands," Stark said. "To keep his secrets, to offer counsel when asked and silence when not, and defend his name and honor."

"Hand Rossart was an Alchemist," Jaime said, stepping back through the door. Stark followed, and he sealed it shut before leading Stark to a hearth where the stones were blackened and ran. "There are caches like that across the whole of the city. Have you ever watched a man burn to death, Lord Stark? I have."

He plucked the cup from Stark's hand and flung it in the hearth. The sudden motion was enough for vile green flames to swirl into the chimney.

"Careful," he added when Stark stepped closer to the hearth. "Wildfire will melt stone."

"Why show me this?" Stark asked.

"You called me Kingslayer," Jaime said. "I suppose were our positions different…"

Stark didn't speak for a long while, but then he looked away. "Where are the Princess and Prince?"

"Dead," Jaime said. "Their bodies cool along with those of their killers."

"Good," Stark said.

"They were some of my father's favorite tools," Jaime said.

* * *

"Ned!" Robert Baratheon's voice filled the Red Keep before they'd returned to the Hall. "Ned, someone made off with—"

"Easy, Robert," Stark said as he entered the Hall before Jaime.

"Ned!" Robert's voice turned almost gleeful. "Look what Lord Lannister has brought me!"

"A dead woman and her infant?" Ned asked.

"Dragons!" Robert thundered. "Dragons, every one of them. Someone made off with the dragon-bitch, but I'll have her. I'm going to see them all dead, Stark. All of them. The entire bloody house root and stem."

"Not everyone," Stark said. "Princess Elia was Dornish."

"Mother of dragonspawn, same different," Robert said.

"Not every one," Jaime said, stepping out from behind Stark. The sudden titanic fury on Robert's face melting into something approximating _thought_ was very nearly as enjoyable as the very blank face his father bore.

"Where," Robert said instead of acknowledging the existence of the child, "is Lyanna?"

"Safe," Jaime said.

"Safe?" Robert asked

"The White Bull, Sword of the Morning, and Ser Oswell Whent guard Princess Lyanna,"

"_What?!_"

"I can only presume," Jaime said as though Robert's warhammer was nowhere to be seen, "that they felt disinclined to publicly share the happy news until the Princesses' families could be informed personally."

"No one ever informed us," Stark said levelly.

"I rather doubt any of them thought your brother would ride into this very room demanding the Prince of Dragonstone 'come out and die,'" Jaime said evenly.

"They were formally married, then?" Tywin asked as Stark turned and gave Jaime a look every bit like his name.

"Prince Rhaegar was a Targaren," Jaime said. "It's been known to happen, but yes. There was a Septon, witnesses, it's on record in the Citadel."

"And Aerys didn't know?"

"I can't comment on what the King and Crown Prince discussed," Jaime said evenly. "I would, of course, been oath-bound to answer any question the King put me about Rhaegar's marriage to Lyanna, and likewise bound to keep his confidence of any questions so asked, but I feel comfortable admitting that he never did so ask of me."

"Now wait just a minute," Robert said.

Jaime realized he didn't have to wonder what it'd look like if a Wolf and Lion contemplated the uses of Stag.

* * *

"I've sent ravens," Jaime said. "There will be a maester at the Princess' side afore you reach her. The Gods know Gerold Hightower is a better knight than any, and the Stranger Himself dances in Arthur's shadow, but one knows nothing that doesn't involve a fight, and the other is scared of women."

"And Whent?" Stark asked.

"What of him?" Jaime asked in reply, offering a scroll to Stark. "Take this."

"What is it?"

"Seven men cannot control the whole of the Red Keep," Jaime said. "We do have _some_ measure for others to take on certain duties…and to let each other know when we do. And it has my report. The whole of it. Give it to Ser Gerold."

Stark paused. "Are you sure you'll be safe here?"

"That Rhaenys will be safe, you mean?" Jaime asked.

Stark didn't reply.

"I've no fear of father," Jaime said.

"It wasn't him I was talking about," Stark said.

"The stag?" Jaime asked. He lowered his voice, "Bear this well in mind, Lord Stark. My father had only ever allowed himself to care about two things. My mother was the second. The first is the family legacy. Not _his_ legacy, but that of House Lannister. He sees me as the heir to that legacy."

"You are sworn to the Kingsguard," Stark said.

"And my brother is ill-formed," Jaime said blandly. "That he lives was the last thing my mother asked of my father."

Stark didn't reply.

"If Robert wants to kill Rhaenys, he must also kill me. He knows it. My father knows it. My father has the better army, and we are inside Robert's defenses. He cannot claim the throne, not so long as the heirs live. Mayhap in Rhaenys was dead and he could exile the others, but she's not. I'll not let him kill her because at least some of my oaths still matter to me. _You'll_ not let him kill her because she is a child and your friend has already caused the rest of her family to be slaughtered, and would slaughter your niece if he could, to say nothing of what he would do to your sister."

Stark nodded very slowly.

"It is best for everyone that this war _ends_, Stark."

"And Lannister won't try for the throne?" Stark asked.

Jaime resisted the urge to grind his teeth. Talking with Barristan was less of a chore! But never had he felt so thankful for Tywin forcing him from the practice field, for the reading lessons had contained more applicable instruction as well, polished by two years of watching people move at the highest levels of power. "The Lannisters have both an army and gold, but neither in sufficient quantity to control the seven. And unless you have that power the only way to rule is if enough of the others are willing to _let_ you rule that your gold and army suffice. And since when has an army ever sufficed for Dorne?" He shook his head. "Never mind that I save Rhaenys, they will never bend the knee to a Lannister, not in our lifetime, not for what Clegane and Lorch did to Elia."

"And yet your father joined Robert," Stark said.

"And Aerys named me King's Guard," Jaime said. "It wasn't testament to my skill, or complement to my father."

"It was a slight," Stark said, putting it out for anyone who might be listening. And not content with that he went on, "he robbed your father of his heir."

Jaime didn't reply.

"You slew your King to defend his name and honor."

"That's one way to look at it," Jaime said neutrally.

"Or was it out of loyalty to your Father?"

"My Prince made me swear to keep his family safe," Jaime countered. "Or maybe it was just for the chance to call your sister 'Princess' to Baratheon's face."

Stark grimaced.

Jaime stepped back. "Ride fast, Stark. It's a long rode to Dorne, and your sister is already nearly due."


	2. Chapter 2

"I know who you are, Lord Eddard," Gerold Hightower said.

To which Ned replied, "And I you, Ser Gerold."

Oswell and Arthur both rested easy in the clearing. Even outnumbered three to one Ned wouldn't have felt good about his chances of winning through force of arms. Arthur Dayne was the deadliest man with a sword in all of Westeros. Jaime Lannister had said the Stranger danced in the shadow cast be the Sword of the Morning. Eddard had little use for the new Gods, but even he had to concede that Lannister wasn't likely wrong.

Eddard reached into one of the bags attached to his saddle and drew out a heavy parchment scroll which he handed across to Gerold.

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard inspected the seal and opened it to reveal not one scroll of parchment, but five. He didn't complete the first page before he looked up. "Is this true?"

"Since I haven't read it—"

"King Aerys—"

"Dead," Eddard said, as both Oswell and Arthur made protesting sounds.

"Princess Elia… Aegon…"

Eddard nodded.

"Ser Jaime failed in his duty," Arthur said.

Eddard stared at Arthur, the man was not a friend, but he'd once entertained the notions of being his good-brother. And for all he loathed the way Lannister broke his oaths, he felt compelled to defend those he had held. "Jaime Lannister is like a mother lioness with one surviving cub."

"You swear then, Princess Rhaenys lives?" Gerold asked.

"Aye," Eddard said.

Gerold stared at him for perhaps a minute before snorting and nodding his head like an irate bull that was his namesake. "Ser Oswell, take Lord Stark to see his sister."

Eddard wordlessly unbuckled his sword belt and passed arming sword and Ice alike to Howland Reed. "Stay here," he said in a low voice. He glanced at Arthur, "and don't start anything."

* * *

"Ned!" Lyanna said as he ducked to enter the great room at the top of the tower. She looked pale, and despite the heat her bed was heavy with blankets. A maester, young-looking with broad shoulders and finely-fingered hands, but whose chain was heavy with links, bowed and murmured an injunction not to upset her as he bowed himself out. "Did Rhaegar come with you?"

"No," Ned said.

"But he did tell you?" she pressed.

"I…" words failed him, and he forced himself to clear his throat. "Lyanna. Prince Rhaegar is dead."

"What? No!" she tried to push herself up only to collapse back on the bed, at the same time as a protesting sound drew both their attention towards a heavily built, but richly carved, cradle. "Eddard," she said in a low voice, "what did you do?"

"Nothing," he protested.

"Don't tell me that," Lyanna's eyes flashed which was never a healthy sign. "We were going to come and tell you, and then I got pregnant and the maester said I shouldn't travel. Rhaegar told me about Brandon. How he marched into the great hall of the Red Keep and demanded Rhaegar 'come out and die.'"

Eddard winced. Wolf blood, his father had called it. Something Brandon and Lyanna more than enough for _three_ generations of Starks. But even so that had been a moment of madness at least as great as any Aerys had had.

"He swore to me that he'd tell you, Ned," Lyanna hissed furiously. "That he'd tell you even if he had to find you on the battlefield. _What did you do_?"

"I—" and again words failed him and left Ned hanging his head. "I told his messenger that Robert was my captain, and that Rhaegar needed to treat with him."

Lyanna chuckled mirthlessly, falling limp in the bedding as chuckles turned into sobs. "And Elia?"

"Dead," Ned said helplessly.

Lyanna looked at him bleary-eyed. "Was it you, or Robert?" she didn't give him time to answer. "I suppose he killed our children too."

"Tywin Lannister," Ned said. "Or his bannerman." No need to tell her the details of what Gregor Clegane had done. No one should have to know such things. "Jaime Lannister killed them and saved Rhaenys."

"And Aerys?" she asked.

"Dead," he said, feeling like he at last had been asked a question he knew how to answer properly, "on Jaime Lannister's sword."

Lyanna made another choked-off sobbing laugh. After a moment she struggled to sit up in the bed again. He stepped forward to help but an angry hand stopped him. "I'm weak and tired, not crippled or near-death."

In a more comfortable position, she nodded. "Meet your nephew, Jeanaerys."

* * *

King's Landing had been tense the day he left.

When Eddard arrived with news of his nephew's birth the city felt like it was watching a troupe of mummers cavort with barrels of wildfire.

Some weeks later and the tension had yet to ebb. In fact, it only ever grew worse as Lords great and small, and knights landed and not, poured into the city.

"The Queen delivered a daughter, but died in the birthing," Jaime told him.

The man next to him made a sound.

"Ser Jaime—" Eddard began.

"Prince Oberyn," Jaime said. "You favor your uncle and sister both."

"Lord Stark told me you slew Elia's killers," Oberyn said.

"Yes."

"Yet you did not save her, you and your brothers."

Jaime paused. "I was the only one of us in the Red Keep, and I had duty before the Throne."

Having just crossed the courtyard, Oberyn paused to look out a window across the self-same courtyard towards the looming edifice of Maegor's Holdfast. After a moment he grudgingly nodded. "My niece?" he asked.

"This way."

But instead of opening the door of the office in the White Sword Tower that he had been using, Jaime instead locked it. He dismantled an armor rack made of heavy iron bars, and slotted the bars into brackets shaped like hooks to hold foul-weather clothes to further block the door. Only once he was convinced the door was secure did he go to a wardrobe, which he opened to reveal racks of paper, ink, quills, and other items of need.

"I doubt anyone knows all of the secrets of the Red Keep anymore," Jaime said as he rolled the supplies out of the wardrobe on hidden wheels and hinges to reveal a second door. "But the Kingsguard has long used this as a place of refuge, out of sight of the court."

Eddard blinked. Did he just imply that the Kingsguard had a chamber for their _mistresses_?

Jaime knocked twice, then pushed the door open.

The room thus revealed was narrow, but long and spacious. The ceiling was high. The windows looked out onto the bay, and brought with them a cooling sea breeze that smelled heavily of saltwater and fish, rather than the stink of the city.

Lyanna was sitting up in her bed, Rhaenys at her side, slumped back against a thick pillow with her mouth half-open. Her son sprawled, audibly snoring in their laps. "If you wake them," she warned in a low growl, "you can have the pleasure of getting them to sleep again."

Oberyn, who had started to reply, stopped.

"You must be Oberyn," Lyanna said. "Elia talked of you."

"Only the good things I hope?"

"That you were unable to father sons, but hasn't stopped you from trying," Lyanna said.

Oberyn grinned. "She never spoke of you."

Lyanna paused. "Prince Lewyn?"

"Never spoke of you."

Lyanna closed her eyes, rested her head back against the headboard, and murmured a word that Eddard hadn't expected her to know. "Elia said she was the only one with any brains."

Eddard choked as Oberyn cocked his head to one side. "She told Doran and I the same."

Lyanna opened her eyes and looked at Oberyn. "I loved Elia just as I loved Rhaegar. Is that going to be a problem between us?" she asked.

He looked at the children. "I had wished to see my niece."

"Your niece _and nephew_," Lyanna said in that same low voice, "are sleeping. Don't you dare wake them."

Oberyn's grin faded. "Do you really think you can get all seven Kingdoms to follow some little wolf girl who claims to be, what, Princess-regent, until her son comes of age?"

Jaime watched Eddard's jaw moved, and wondered if that was what he'd looked like when Eddard had looked at him cradling Rhaenys on the throne, then down at Aerys' corpse, then back

"I don't need all seven kingdoms," Lyanna said. "I need enough to back me that those who would actively oppose me don't." An arm draped around Rhaenys' shoulders. "Because the first thing a _successful_ rebellion does is kill all the prior claimants to the throne."

* * *

There were rituals for court.

The King was the last to arrive and the first to depart.

A supplicant was supposed to approach only so close before kneeling, someone called to testify was supposed to stand in a particular spot—

The doors of the Throne Room swung open and those waiting outside, the paramount lord, lords and ladies of lesser houses, courtiers and knights, pushed forward.

There was a gasp as people recognized a figure dressed in greys and the drab black mantle of mourning, already sitting when the doors opened. Not on the looming hulk of the iron throne that tradition and custom decreed be the only chair in the hall. Instead she was seated on a heavy, magnificently carved _wooden_ chair (in another chamber it would have been called a throne in its own right) at the foot of and two one side of the _real_ throne.

A moment of pure rage thundered across Robert's face as he recognized Lyanna, and Eddard watched his foster-brother hide it behind an icy mask.

Tradition decreed that the Kingsguard stand watch at the foot of the dais when the King or heir was present. _Ritual_ made it an odd number so that one could always stand directly in front of the Throne. Instead there were only two.

Two dead, one left to escort Prince Viserys and the newest princess from Dragonstone, another recovering from injuries at the Trident, and…ser Jaime.

The doors closed with a booming _thud_.

Ritual meant the first voice should be the call to order from the Hand (if both King and Hand were present), or the Seneschal of the Red Keep if not. Instead an icy voice hissed into the echoing void left by the doors closing, "there _will_ be order, my Lords and Ladies."

Eddard nodded slightly. Lyanna's cool tones might as well have been the shout she wasn't strong enough to voice. He was so used to Lyanna _moving_, running only if she couldn't ride, never at a canter if she could gallop. But her voice came out so correct, cool and formal, that he wondered which of them her infirmity bothered more.

"I am Lyanna," she said, "daughter of the late Rickard Stark, wife of the late Rhaegar Targaryen, mother of his trueborn son Jaenaerys, and likewise Rhaenys. Grand Maester Pycelle, would you present any evidence the Citadel has to confirm these claims?"

"Er?" Pycelle asked. "Um, yes… Yes, of course. A certificate of marriage between the former Crown Prince, Rhaegar, and Lady Lyanna Stark is on file with at the Citadel. While an annulment of Prince Rhaegar's marriage to Elia of House Nymeros Martell—"

"Princess Elia," Lyanna interrupted.

"Er… Princess Elia, that is, is not. Um, an annulment, that is. However, that absence does not conflict with customs, traditions, or laws concerning such…relationships with House Targaryen. So, eh, the Crown Prince's wives are, um…collectively the mothers of his children."

"Thank you," Lyanna said. "High Septon Hewyard?"

"The Faith have record of a marriage between Crown Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna Stark," the High Septon spoke slowly, his voice was as clear as the crystals in his crown, though colored with…distaste. "Performed before witnesses, and a Heart Tree as she worships the Old Gods. We have no record of an annulment of the marriage between Crown Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia. As custom, tradition, and law allow such unions between House Targaryen, the Faith has no choice but to recognize both marriages as legally binding…and leave the matter to the Gods; Old, New, and Rhoynarish alike."

There were Targaryens, Eddard thought, who would have the Septon dead for adding that last part, but Lyanna simply nodded.

"Ser Gerold?" Lyanna asked.

"My Lady," Gerold Hightower said, stepping forward and lifting off his helm. "My sworn brothers and I have guarded you at our Prince's behest. We recognize your son as his heir. His firstborn son being deceased. We recognize Jaenaerys as our present and lawful King."

Which, Eddard thought, wasn't what she'd asked at all. But as the High Septon had mostly repeated the Grand Maester, it made Ser Gerold's proclamation all the more compelling an agreement.

Lyanna nodded as Gerold took up his post once more. "My Lord and Ladies, shall I continue to call witnesses to attest that my son and I are who I claim we are, or shall we move on to more pressing business?"

"My Lady, that is, your Grace? Um… Lyanna…"

Eddard closed his eyes as Mace Tyrell began to drone. How had the man managed to keep Stannis penned up, even with an army?

It took about a minute before Lyanna interrupted him, and when she did it was with a 'My Lord' rather than an arrow to the knee or asking Eddard to thump him.

That, Eddard thought. That right there was how unwell she was feeling.

"Er…yes?" Mace asked.

"My Lord…do be quiet," Lyanna said. "Anyone else? No? Then moving along," she said without giving anyone else a chance to object. "I will be serving as Regent until my son's majority," she said. "With advice and tutors from the seven Kingdoms. A small council to assist in governance thereof. And the appointment of various persons to oversee various things that need doing.

"Before we get to that, I summon Ser Jaime Lannister."

There was a quiet commotion as people realized Jaime _wasn't_ one of the three armed and armored knights standing in front of the dais on which the throne loomed. The crowd parted and Jaime, wearing the arms and regalia of a King's Guard stepped forward.

"Ser Jaime, you stand accused of treason, of Kingslaying, of slaying the King's Hand, of failing your duty and breaking your oaths that led to the deaths of Princess Elia, and Crown Prince Aegon. There were no witnesses to the Kingslaying, but only to your presence in this very room with a bloody sword by two—a knight and a lord—who were part of the sack of the Red Keep. As such I turned the matter over to the Kingsguard to judge.

"Ser Gerold, your verdict if you please?"

Gerold Hightower once again took off his helm. "My Lady. A member of the Kingsguard swears many oaths. Oaths to protect the King, obey him, to keep his secrets, to offer counsel when asked and silence when not, and defend his name and honor. We have questioned witnesses to the last weeks before the Sack. We have questioned those present _during_ the Sack, as to our sworn brother's actions. And we have questioned Ser Jaime as to his actions, his conduct, and the confidences the late King Aerys shared with him.

"As such we have found that Ser Jaime was caught between Oaths and loyalties that no man would envy, and discharged his duty in a way that no man could better. But in doing so Oaths _were_ broken, as was his faith with the Brotherhood." Ser Gerold paused.

From the slight change of his posture, Eddard thought Ser Arthur didn't agree with what was being said. But also didn't _dis_agree with it enough to make a point of it.

"Having not reached a guilty verdict for a crime with which he must answer for his life, but likewise not being able to countenance his presence among the Brotherhood, we ask leave, by unanimous vote including Ser Jaime's own, that he be released from his Oaths as a brother of the Kingsguard."

"Very well," Lyanna said. "Ser Gerold, I command that this night be Ser Jaime's last as a member of the Kingsguard. That he might have every opportunity to say his farewells to those who were his brothers, and on the morn leave for forever the White Sword Tower. I command that you detail in full his deeds in the White Book, that he be held up as an example and to all future Brothers of your order. And as your appointments are for life, I order that you induct no new member in his place until such time as his mortal demise. These orders to stand until and unless confirmed by the next King."

"Yes, My Lady," Ser Gerold said.

"Ser Jaime Lannister," Lyanna continued. "The status of your broken oaths is a matter for you and your Gods. Likewise, I find no cause for which I can strip you of your knighthood."

"Yes, My Lady," Jaime said thickly.

"However," she said as though he hadn't spoken. "I cannot deny that Princess Rhaenys has been attached to you since you saved her life, and avenged the murder of her mother and brother, during the Sack. I would have you as her sworn shield, and as member of the regency council. That said, I realize that these sudden changes affect all of House Lannister as much as they do you. I grant you three days to discuss matters with your Lord. Come to me after to settle matters."

Lyanna turned her head slightly in dismissal, but her voice continued in that same even tone as she turned to the next point she meant to address. It wasn't fast, or boundless in energy, but there was a _relentlessness_ to it.

She'd learned this court, Eddard realized. The way these southroners talked instead of acting. But she wasn't going around in circles the way Jon Arryn's lessons had. It wasn't the half-steps, the measured phrases that mingled yes and no and forced the listener to decide which was meant. It was the kind of bold, cut right through the middle of everything action that he would have expected of Bran…if his older brother could have ever used words when a sword would have done just as well.

_My father had only ever allowed himself to care about two things. My mother was the second. The first is the family legacy._

Eddard nodded slowly. The Oaths the Whitecloaks swore were just as binding as those of the Black. I will hold no lands. I will father no children. In a move Lyanna had just given Tywin Lannister back his favored heir, attested that Jaime should retain his knighthood, made a show that even if his was no longer a _formal _member of the Kingsguard she considered him so, one worthy of emulation even, and she had offered him actual power as well. _Tywin_ Lannister hadn't exactly been diminished, but he himself reaped no benefits—or penalties—for his part in the rebellion or how his bannermen had slain Elia or Aegon.

She'd had the North already. With Catelyn it'd bring in the Riverlands. Jon had risen in rebellion to protect those fostering with him. Even if he didn't actively support Lyanna, it wasn't likely he'd actively oppose her either. With claiming Rhaenys as her daughter, and professing her love for Elia, she had Dorne as well. And now whichever way they chose, the Westerlands would support her. 'Next King' she had said, _not_ King 'Jaenaerys.' And there was precious little chance that any other King would so let Jaime Lannister, _proven_ King-slayer or no, so close to the Red Keep.

That left the Reach and the Stormlands.

The Reach had been loyal to the Targaryens. But would they be loyal to a Northerner who claimed to have married into the house in secret, proclaiming a regency for a heir none of them new existed?

And Robert… Eddard didn't have to even look at his best friend to know Robert Baratheon was fully in the grip of the Words of his House. He hadn't lashed out…yet. But…a storm was coming.

The words brought a smile but very little humor to Eddard's face. It wasn't the lost throne. Gods new and old alike knew that Robert had very little interest in ruling. What ate at him more, Eddard wondered. That Lyanna had denied him the chance to slay the last three, the last _four_ Targaryens? Or was it, in pressing her claim to be wedded to Rhaegar, she had taken everything Robert claimed about his feelings for her and thrown them back in his face?

* * *

A/N: okay, this is out of my system. Now I've got an idea for a prequel. Joy.


	3. Chapter 3

The last one. I mean it this time!

* * *

"You're mad!" The head of Robert Baratheon's warhammer didn't hit the floor hard enough to crack the stones. It had been dropped, not slammed, and struck with its top rather than the stamp-sized face intended to cave-in armor plate. But it was more than loud enough to create its own void in the vault of the throne room.

"Rhaegar was a kidnaper, and a raper, and these _knights,_" Robert sneered and gesticulated wildly at Gerold Hightower and Arthur Dayne, "helped. Aerys was mad. When your own brother came to rescue you Aerys had him imprisoned. Then he burned your father alive in this very room, and strangled Brandon as he watched."

Lyanna had started to rise, but now she sat impassively. Gerold and Arthur hadn't moved, but Dawn didn't need to be unsheathed for the room to teeter on the brink of bloodshed.

"Whatever he's done, whatever Rhaegar did to you, has poisoned your mind," Robert what on. "No doubt your bastard is mad too, just like all that dragonspawn brood. And the last thing we need is another mad king!"

"Are you quite through, Lord Baratheon?" Lyanna asked in a voice that was pale like milky water…or light upon Dawn. "For it occurs to me that your father's mother was Princess Rhaelle Targaryen."

Robert blanched. "You-you _slut!_"

The room quavered as it balanced on the edge of a knife.

"Lord Stannis," Lyanna said evenly. "Will you help your brother to his quarters? I think he is not himself. He sounds quite taken by emotion."

"I am not overwrought!"

"Grand Maester Pycelle, perhaps an essence of nightshade to help calm his tempers so that he might rest."

"I'm. Not. _Tired!_" Robert thundered as he brandished his Warhammer.

Robert Baratheon was a big, strong, powerfully built man. But Jaime Lannister possessed what was possibly the most prodigious talent for swordplay in his generation. It was a talent honed in the training yards and sparring fields of Casterly Rock. And since being inducted into the Kingsguard it was a skill that had been driven to new heights by the likes of Gerold Hightower, Arthur Dayne, and Barristan Selmy.

More than that, the Kingsguard had literally _centuries_ of protecting the monarchs of the Seven Kingdoms. Not all threats warranted a deadly response. In fact, deadly force was often the _last_ thing they wanted. It was far better to take a potential threat alive that he might be questioned to determined if it was someone who was indeed a threat, the actions of a lone madman, or part of a deeper-seated conspiracy. Better still if the person could be taken down with a minimum of harm, so as to lessen the amount to time the person would need to be in the care of the Maesters before being questioned.

Jaime Lannister took the warhammer from Robert's grip with about as much effort was needed to lift it from a weapon rack and passed it off. Robert twisted, but Jaime was faster, inside Robert's guard, and had Robert's arm to function as a giant lever. There was a deep, horse-like grunt and Robert was standing very erect with one hand pinned between his shoulder blades. Jaime reached down and effortlessly lifted out Robert's sword by its quillions and likewise passed it along even as Stannis came and caught up his brother's other arm.

Robert bellowed as Stannis and Ser Jaime began to drag him out of the hall.

Lyanna waited while the doors opened and slammed shut once more. "My Lords and Ladies," she said. "It has been long and trying weeks since the death of King Aerys. The unpleasantness that transpired before his death lasted for months. Putting all of that behind us will be neither quick nor easy, but we _will_ put it behind us."

She paused, channeling every bit of her father's 'dire warning' into the words as she swept the hall with her gaze. All the while she kept her breathing slow and even to project strength even as she waited for her racing heart to slow and her throbbing head to ease. Thank the Gods Ser Gerold had suggested a lesser chair. She didn't want to even think what she—let alone her garments—would have looked like had she insisted on using the Iron Throne.

Handrails. Sometime in the near future she needed to commission proper handrails for that…looming monstrosity. And proper decorations. A dragon skull the size of a carriage was one thing, but the message it sent when they ranged down to the size of an apple was something else.

"That said, we have had a full and exciting morning, and the hour for luncheon is nearly upon us. Therefore we will conclude our business for today and reconvene tomorrow morning. Ned, you stay. Everyone else get out."

* * *

"Lyanna," Robert said in a voice that was _almost_ tender as he started across the office.

"Don't," Lyanna's eyes flashed, "'Lyanna' me. Are you _trying_ to force me to have you executed?"

Robert stumbled to a stop. "What?"

"You took up arms against your lawful king," Lyanna said, her tone completely undermining the last two words. "You slew _my husband_." She took a breath and began to tick down the remaining points. "Your ally's bannerman crushed Elia's skull like it was an overripe melon and pulped her brain through his fingers. That was _before_ he was done raping her, but _after_ he imparted his intention to do likewise to Rhaenys. And don't think I don't know about your repeated statements about dragonspawn.

"And then we arrive at your stunning performance today."

"Lyanna—"

"I'm not finished, Robert," Lyanna said. "I am the Regent. My son is _King_."

"Your son is a bastard by a raper!"

Lyanna froze in the chair behind her desk. Only a solitary finger moved with metronomic precision as it lifted and fell. The exclamation had half-lifted Robert to his feet and both waited until he had settled into his chair once more.

"I suppose you are about to tell me to take Jon north and you'll leave us well enough alone."

"Send the bastard to the Wall to take the black."

"Did you just seriously suggest I give a _baby_ to the Night's Watch?" Lyanna asked.

"You can stay in the south," Robert said as though she hadn't spoken. "With me. I'll make you a Queen in truth."

"Even if I did, Jaime would _never_ let you kill Rhaenys or her uncle and aunt," Lyanna said. "You'd have to kill him too. Do you think you can beat Tywin Lannister, Dorne, the Riverlands, _and_ the North?"

"Marry me, then," Robert said. "With Ned that Tully girl and Tywin'll just have Dorne."

Lyanna shook her head. "Why would I ever marry you?"

"We were betrothed once, Lyanna. I love you."

"We were betrothed because my father wanted House Stark to start having influence south of the Neck," Lyanna said. "And the only things you have ever loved are drinking, hitting things, and sticking your cock into cunts. You're in love with the idea of having me. You aren't in love with _me_, and I'll not be some second—"

"You were to Rhaegar."

She loved Ned. Lyanna tapped her finger, forcing herself to breathe by it. Imagining her heart beating to the up-down tapping of her finger on her desk. Robert, for once, had half-sat back as though he'd realized that even for him he was pushing at lines best not crossed.

She loved Ned. That's why she was entertaining Robert in her office. So that if he did something like, oh, say, _opened his mouth_, she wouldn't have to have him executed the way she would have if he opened it in court in front of witnesses that she couldn't just pretend away the way she had the first time.

She loved Ned.

"Lord Baratheon," she said very carefully, "I shall only say this once, and I will use small words to be sure that you understand them. Rhaegar, Elia, and I loved one another. That is different from lusting after every daughter, chambermaid, and tavern wench you lay eyes on or get within arm's reach. The Citadel and the Faith have both recognized our collective children as _my_ children. My legal, _legitimate_, children. I have no particular care for the Iron Throne, but if you think for one moment that I will tolerate a threat to my children, you are badly—you are _fatally_ mistaken.

"Your actions have _directly_ led to the death of my husband, my wife, my son, and the torture of my daughter. Your public comments today were unacceptable from the Paramount Lord of the Stormlands at the, for you, very best. A much less generous interpretation would be that you have made repeated threats against, in no particular order, my children, my infant good-brother and good-sister, myself, and the crown. It is only to your friendship with Ned that I did not have you executed this very day, Ser!"

"You wouldn't dare!" Robert leapt to his feet.

Lyanna's words were icy as only a Northern winter's could be. "Ser Arthur."

A decorative screen fell to the floor reveal Arthur Dayne and Barristan Selmy, the latter seated in a chair, and both holding heavy crossbows. _Cocked_ heavy crossbows that were aimed at Robert Baratheon's chest. "Lord Baratheon," Ser Arthur said evenly.

"Ser Arthur," Robert grunted. "Ser Barristan."

"Ser Arthur, what would Ser Oswell say were he here?" Lyanna said.

"Probably some comment about the difficulty of heating a hart with a heavy crossbow in a small room," Barristan said.

"That does sound like him" Lyanna agreed. She braced both hands on the desk in front of her as she stood. "Robert, Lord of House Baratheon and so on, I, Lyanna, Regent and such, for King Jeanaerys, first of his name, King of and so on and so on and so on… What will it be, Robert? Am I taking your head, shipping you off to Castle Black, or are you abdicating your house to Stannis and going into exile? Join the Golden Company where you can booze, wench, and fight without the least concern for anyone or anything?"

Robert blinked. "You mean that."

"I do," Lyanna said.

"But you loved me."

Lyanna shook her head, but it was once and slowly. "You were never more to me than Ned's friend. You have rapidly made yourself less than that."

* * *

A/N 1: I had a couple of comments about Robert's reaction and how Lyanna dealt with it and couldn't resist.

A/N 2: as to Jeanaerys' name, I'll admit I spent a lot longer thinking about this than what something this length really deserves, but here is roughly what I was thinking

First, Ned could have simply slapped a name on Lyanna's son (and making it in honor of his mentor, Jon Arryn, makes a bit of sense), but I felt he'd want to use a name that was at least passingly similar to one that Lyanna gave said son (assuming she named him and passed it along before she died).

Second, Lyanna isn't fluent in Valeyrion, high or low. And she didn't really have enough time to assimilate into said culture (or at least the Targaryen practice thereof). Also, what time she did have, Rhaegar and Elia were concentrating on how to deal with Aerys and the aftermath of his downfall (both, I think, would have found a very different perspective to be useful in this regard).

Third, She wanted a name that _sounded_ suitably Targaryen, and probably would have made minor changes if Rhaegar had been around to consult. But at the same time it wasn't a name she had cultural expectations of. So… the 'ea' construction (which shows up in French) is reversed from the normal Targaryen practice of 'ae'.

Fourth, The '-aerys' ending construction is masculine, the female ending would be '-aera' which is vaguely similar to 'Jean' vs 'Jehanne' (much to the disappointment to those who think 'Jean' is gender-neutral). This wasn't something Lyanna took into consideration, of course, but it is where I pulled the front half of the name from.

Finally, I know some people with really unfortunate names simply because their parents thought something sounded neat, interesting, or…whatever. As a practical matter, Lyanna slapped a name on the kid and nobody is really going to have the time or energy (or at least want to spend the time and energy) arguing over what is a rather small point compared to other stuff she's doing.


End file.
